


the ocean, the boys, you (my sweet love)

by meretricula



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Future Fic, Ibiza, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:16:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6749500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meretricula/pseuds/meretricula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many, many years later, Andres finally lets Victor teach him to windsurf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ocean, the boys, you (my sweet love)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stickmarionette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickmarionette/gifts).



> the accompanying fanmix can be found [here](http://footie-springfling.tumblr.com/post/143905493271).

"I'm not actually going out on the water on that thing," Andres said firmly. 

"Yes, you are," Victor said, equally firmly. "I have waited years of my life to go windsurfing with you. You are not going to chicken out on me now." 

"Can't we — compromise?" Andres asked, without much hope. "You go out in the winged death contraption, I sit on the sand and get sunburned and cheer you on?" 

"Of course we can!" Victor said. Andres, not having known him from childhood for nothing, waited for the catch. "If we do, though, I'm going to remind you and all our friends on a daily basis until I'm on my deathbed of the fact that Andres Iniesta, scorer of the winning goal in the 2010 World Cup, was too scared to try a _perfectly safe_ leisure activity practiced by thousands of people who have never been professional athletes. It's up to you." 

"Safe my ass, I could slip and fall and hit my head and drown," Andres grumbled. "I'm too old for this sort of thing." 

"Oh, come on, I'm older than you are." 

"And hitting your midlife crisis right on schedule," Andres agreed sweetly. He leaned back on his elbows and watched Victor sputter, hiding a smile. It was a beautiful day, sunny and clear, and the water was almost freakishly blue against the white sand. Andres was borrowing the house that came with the private beach while Cesc and Leo and Geri and their families were all off riding rollercoasters in Disneyland, which was already a compromise for Victor; he usually just drove to the nearest beach and got into the water. People still recognized Andres all the time even though he was retired and completely bald and losing muscle definition at an alarming rate. Victor, on the other hand, had grown his hair out long and wore it in a stubby ponytail most of the time and looked about the same in a wetsuit as he had in his early twenties, and he almost never got stopped for autographs but he got hit on more than ever. It was one of life's little injustices, Andres thought, that Victor actually liked the kind of exercise regimen that maintained flat abs and bulging biceps, but the nation would never let Andres get fat in peace. He was mostly resigned to it, but it occasionally brought back memories of trailing after Victor at La Masia like the world's ugliest duckling. 

"You're going to have _fun_ ," Victor said once he had recovered his dignity, although it sounded more like a threat than a promise. "And I will absolutely not let you drown even a little." 

"That's very reassuring, thank you," Andres said, eyes rolling. 

"And you're already in the wetsuit," Victor continued doggedly, "so you might as well do something that you need it for." 

"It seems very useful for sitting on the sand without getting it up my ass," Andres observed for form's sake, but he already had his hands up to let Victor pull him to his feet and start dragging him down to the water. "Also for restraining my gut. Is this how you're maintaining those washboard abs? I have newfound respect for anyone who wears control-top pantyhose." 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Victor asked. "C'mon, quit stalling. I'll share my workout secrets later." 

"No, don't bother, I already know your workout secrets involve way too much actual work," Andres said cheerfully, and resigned himself to his fate. It wasn't, in the end, all that bad; he was never going to love windsurfing the way Victor did, but he could understand the appeal, and anything that made Victor this happy was something he could at least tolerate for the space of a morning. He still had too many memories of Victor sad or angry or out of his mind from stress not to value the chance to see him smile. 

He wasn't used to this much exercise so early in the day, or this much sunshine for that matter, but Victor was clearly keeping an eye on him; they paddled back to shore as soon as Andres started to get tired. "You get it now, right?" Victor asked. His whole face was lit up in a way that Andres recognized from trophies and tough victories and clean sheets, but he looked peaceful, too, and that was different. 

"Yeah," Andres said. He smiled to soften the blow and added, "I'm still just sitting on the beach and watching you tomorrow, though." 

"Well, I guess it's not really a group activity," Victor said philosophically. "I got you to the beach, at least. Did you pack a book?" 

Andres laughed. "Several. And a case of wine, so hurry up and help me out of this so we can go have lunch." 

One of the arguments in favor of Leo and his attendant morons' massive family compound as opposed to a public beach was definitely being able to strip out of their wetsuits right on the sand and walk back up to the house buck naked. Victor peeled his off with more speed and grace than was really decent for a man wearing skintight neoprene, and patiently helped Andres wriggle out of his. "Maybe it's for the best that you stay on the beach," he said, slapping Andres' ass as they walked back up to the house. "You need a tan, Gusiluz, and you won't get one through your wetsuit." 

"I need to marinate myself in sunscreen is what I need," Andres retorted, but the old nickname made him smile. "I can't believe you still remember that." 

"Well, most of it was bullshit," Victor said with a shrug, "but you have to admit the glow in the dark sketch was funny." 

"I'm going to go to my grave denying I've ever seen Crackovia," Andres said. "I don't want anyone to think they can put Puto Gusiluz on my tombstone." 

"You have literally watched it with me. We were sharing a pair of earbuds." 

"You don't count," Andres said. "When I die you're going to be too busy flinging yourself into my coffin to prank me. It's Cesc I'm worried about." 

"Maybe I'll die first," Victor said hopefully. "I ride a motorcycle all the time, and I smoked for two weeks when I was fifteen, remember?" 

"Also you don't wear enough sunscreen," Andres agreed. "You idiot. I'm still mad at you for the cigarette phase, by the way. I don't want to deal with your funeral, either. If I ever hear about you riding that motorcycle without a helmet I'm going to kill you myself." 

"We can die together," Victor decided. "When we're really ancient. In bed. Someone else can take care of putting us in the ground." 

"Sounds like a plan," Andres said. "Open a bottle of wine once you're dressed, would you? I'm going to put the leftover tortilla in the oven to warm up before I get in the shower." 

Eating lunch gave Andres a strange sense of deja vu, remembering all the times he and Victor had shared a tortilla and talked about their day despite the fact that they had been together for all of it. At the same time, though, it was nothing like when they were younger, when they trained together and ate together and took their siesta together almost every day for years of their lives. There were huge parts of Victor's life that he didn't know about now, and he knew that that was normal and part of being grown up but it still bothered him. He kept turning that thought over and over in the back of his mind like worrying at a loose tooth, the idea of Victor being unknown, until lunch was over and their plates were in the dishwasher and Victor was going into the second bedroom for his afternoon nap. 

Instead of telling him to sleep well and walking down the hall to the master bedroom, Andres followed him inside. Victor didn't seem bothered or even surprised; they both stripped down to their underwear and got into bed without a hint that their siesta procedure had changed in any way. Finally, when he was curled up against Victor's side with Victor's arm around his shoulders, Andres found the words he wanted to say. They were remarkably simple. "I miss you." 

"I'm right here," Victor said. Andres waited through the pause of Victor thinking through what he was going to say, encouraged by the slow sweep of Victor's hand up and down his back. "But I know what you mean." 

"I miss _us_ ," Andres said. It was a terrible relief to put it into words. He couldn't think why he'd let it drag on so long. "I know it can't be like it was before, but I want — can we try again? I think we could be better, this time. I don't know how, but I want to try." 

"If you want to, then we will," Victor said. "Don't look at me like that, you know I'd do anything for you. I love you, idiot. Anyway, we have the rest of the week to figure it out before Leo and his horde need their house back," he added prosaically. "It's you and me, Andresito. We'll work something out. We just need to know what we're working towards." 

"New goal: dying in bed together when we're ancient," Andres suggested. The smile pulling at the corners of his mouth felt irresistible, and he saw it mirrored on Victor's face when he looked up at him. He'd missed that smile. He'd missed a lot of things. 

"Hell of a lot better than winning three Champions Leagues and then being done before we hit thirty," Victor agreed. "We were idiots when we were kids." 

"We had _some_ good ideas," Andres said, and then yawned, caught off-guard as the effects of a new form of exercise and too much sunshine and the wine at lunch crashed down on him all at once. "Sorry." 

"One or two," Victor conceded. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of Andres' head before settling back down in the bed, still curved around Andres' body like an open parenthesis. "Take your nap, and we can talk about it more tonight. I'll still be here when you wake up." 

Something to work towards, Andres reflected as he squirmed around to get comfortable, eventually settling with his cheek pressed against the pillow and his arm flung over Victor's chest to hold him close. Waking up together was definitely a good start.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. kinda sorta maybe takes place in the same universe as stickmarionette's [running to make it home](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5960395) i.e. the universe where everybody gets to live happily ever after post-retirement in Ibiza.  
> 2\. [lo puto gusiluz](https://youtu.be/SMNyFO7Nm04?list=PL39171C41C45658E9)  
> 3\. Victor's love for windsurfing is canon, as is the triple Champions League pact. I made up the rest.


End file.
